


To Love a Rock Star

by avadedrahetarra



Series: To Love a Rock Star [1]
Category: Gackt - Fandom, Jrock, Miyavi - Fandom, S.K.I.N., Yoshiki - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avadedrahetarra/pseuds/avadedrahetarra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoshiki warned Gackt to stay professional. Miyavi’s always harbored a secret dream. Will S.K.I.N. be torn apart from the inside out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Gackt: First Impressions Suck, Second Impressions Are Best

How I wish I could say that I hated him.  
My first impression of his was far from favorable, although it was not a true meeting. More like, it was pure accident. A rare moment of idleness on my behalf at Chachamaru’s apartment, combined with a television with nothing on. And a rerun of a music program.  
I saw him and I laughed.  
He was loud. And not just in the vocal sense. If I ever thought that Tetsu’s wardrobe was loud, then this boy’s sense of style practically screamed. I thought to call Hyde and make the comparison to him, knowing that my friend would need the laugh, but after the verbal lashing I’d received from his wife the last time I called, I decided against it.  
After that initial look, I promptly forgot about him.  
I remember the day, though, that I was told I’d be forced to remember him. And never forget him again.  
I was sitting in Yoshiki’s palatial Las Angeles home, nursing a glass of wine from his personal stock, and reveling in the glory that was recording my new single.  
“I’ve found our second guitarist,” he said, handing me a fresh glass.  
I fought to keep my expression indifferent, though my insides were childishly screaming with curiosity.  
“Really? Who?”  
“He’s young,” Yoshiki said. “Younger than all of us, I mean. But he’s good, damn good. You probably know of him.”  
I stared levelly at him, forcing myself not to bite my lip.  
“His name is Miyavi-,”  
“Wait,” I couldn’t hold the shock in. “You mean that kid who looks like a walking bowl of Fruity Pebbles?”  
Yoshiki laughed long and hard at that, fidgeting with his left wrist brace.  
“But you have to admit, that bowl of cereal plays the guitar like no one’s business.”  
I conceded the point with my silence.  
“But don’t think I didn’t see that,” Yoshiki suddenly snapped, his tone turning serious.  
“See what?”  
“That look. That look you always get when you see a challenge.”  
“I-,”  
“Don’t even think about it, Gackt. Miyavi’s not like the others. He’s not like your precious family. You can’t, you _won't_ , seduce him. He’s fought damn hard to get to where he is, just like all the rest of us have. He’s paid his dues. Miyavi’s got a lot of potential; he’s got a great deal of life ahead of him. He’s got it in him to be ranked among the leaders of this business. And I’ll be damned if I sit back and let that get ruined. Not by you, not by anyone.”  
I stared at Yoshiki, all pretense of coolness lost in my dropped jaw and widened eyes.  
“But,” I tried to speak. “I don’t even _like_ the kid.”  
“All the better. See if you can keep it that way.”

Yoshiki made the announcement at JRock Revolution, where he, Miyavi, and Sugizo had all performed. I was not present, but I saw it later on one of my bored perusings of fan sites. I admit to my moments of vanity. But when I saw the clips of Yoshiki announcing Miyavi’s participation, when I heard the fans lose their minds as this colorful, boisterous, loud and obnoxious man was named among us, I must admit that I found myself becoming… interested.  
Still, I knew that I had to take Yoshiki seriously. There was too much of my own reputation and career hanging on this creation. I counted every single one of my blessings that Yoshiki had even given this offer to me.  
I first and formally met him in Las Angeles a few weeks later. Yoshiki kept giving me warning looks, which I pointedly ignored. I had decided on my own that I’d keep myself distant from Miyavi. Well, as much as was possible given the circumstances of performing together.  
Once more sitting in Yoshiki’s house, I suddenly missed my dog. Why I was thinking about Belle at a time like that, I still have yet to figure out, but I was. So much so that I missed the doorbell and Yoshiki’s leaving the room. Sugizo shook me out of my reverie in time to see Yoshiki come back into the room, the colorful boy in tow.  
My firm resolve crumbled.  
Television does this boy no justice. I could only vaguely remember what I had watched those few months ago, but it paled in comparison to seeing him in person. Tall, slender, delicate, but still with a masculinity that radiated across the room. He looked both proud and terrified, twitching slightly in the doorway.  
“Miyavi, come sit down,” Yoshiki said gently, waving to the random pieces of furniture. “I’ll introduce you properly.”  
I watched the boy cross the room, his manner forcibly subdued in our presence. He settled into a chair, still fidgeting, and stared at the carpet.  
“Miyavi, this is Sugizo,” Yoshiki began, motioning to the lead guitarist at the other end of the couch from me.  
Miyavi looked up briefly, muttering out a hello and a few other pleasantries before dropping his eyes back to the floor.  
“And this,” he pointed at me, “is Gackt.”  
He took longer to look at me, dragging his gaze up as if it were difficult.  
“I know who he is,” he said softly, smiling shakily. “I definitely know Gackt.”  
Yoshiki laughed.  
“I’m sure. Is there anyone who doesn’t?”  
I caught and held his gaze, smiling easily at him, hoping to calm him. I reached a hand across the table between us, palm out, in a friendly manner. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it in his own trembling hand.  
“It’s good to meet you, Miyavi,” I said. “A pleasure.”  
He blushed and relaxed a little as he released my hand and sat back in the chair. Conversation went smoothly from then on. There was no business talk at this initial meeting. No talk of songs or preparations. Just four men getting acquainted and comfortable together.  
Miyavi suddenly launched himself to his feet.  
“Damn! I completely forgot I have to meet my manager in twenty minutes! He’ll probably murder me if I’m late again. Yoshiki, forgive me, but I have got to run!”  
“Go, go,” Yoshiki waved him away, laughing. “We’ll see you next week.”  
The boy smiled wildly and launched himself at Yoshiki, hugging him tightly. I could see Yoshiki’s shocked and amused expression as Miyavi flew past me to give Sugizo the same treatment. Seeing this twice gave me a bit more time to prepare myself, so when the blur of color that was Miyavi came at me, I met the hug willingly, earning a laugh from the younger boy.  
“I’m a fan,” he whispered hurriedly into my ear, gripping me tightly. “Have been since I was a kid. It’s an honor to work with you.”  
With that, he was gone.  
I decided to take my leave not long after, wanting to get away and be alone for a while. I was still thinking about my dog. Yoshiki offered to see me out.  
In the foyer, just as I was reaching for the door, I felt strong arms grab my jacket and I was slammed back into the door. My head thumped loudly and hard against it, causing my vision to swim briefly so that I was staring at three of Yoshiki.  
“Remember what I told you, Gackt,” he said, pushing me harder against the door. “Remember what I said about him.”  
For a man shorter and older than I am, he was surprisingly strong.  
“I remember, Yoshiki,” I said. “Believe me, I remember.”  
“Good.”  
He let me go and began massaging his right wrist, having gone without his braces for a while. I straightened my jacket, turned, and left the house.  
And I tried to tell myself that I wouldn't get involved with Miyavi.  


	2. II. Miyavi: An Honor, A Gift, and A Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoshiki warned Gackt to stay professional. Miyavi’s always harbored a secret dream. Will S.K.I.N. be torn apart from the inside out?

I was sixteen when he went solo.   
I remember sitting in my room, picking out chords and melodies on a beat up, hand-me-down, acoustic guitar, and listening to the radio, just _hoping_  they’d play his song again. Then I’d hear the opening violin and that was it.  
At sixteen, I fell in love with Gackt.  
His voice, his musical style, his looks. It was all perfection. I didn’t care that he was ten years my elder, or that we were both male. I was in love with the man.   
In the years that I was with Due’le Quartz, I harbored my obsession quietly, fearing ridicule from my band mates. I had always hoped for a chance to get close to him, but our bands’ styles were much too different for paths to cross. Besides, GacktJOB rarely stayed still long enough to do much more than fall over on its back and play dead for a few hours. Gackt’s life revolved around his music, it seemed.   
Alone in my apartment, I would imagine myself as part of his band, his family. Childish, I know, but I wanted to be part of something great, something huge and wonderful. Something more.   
Due’le finally fell apart and I was free to pursue my own ends. I was young, in my twenties, and I poured _everything_ into my music. My heart and soul, my blood and sweat. Every part of me was in my music. There was no beat, no melody, no chord or lyric that I hadn’t mulled over, cried over, stressed and rejoiced over.  
In essence, my life began to revolve around music as well.

I was twenty-five when Yoshiki approached me.   
“Miyavi, this is Yoshiki,” my manager told me one day with a ‘please-tell-me-you-know-who-this-is-or-so-help-me-I-will-brutally-murder-you’ look in his eyes.  
“Of course I know who Yoshiki is,” I answered coolly, setting my acoustic aside and unfurling myself from my chair. “I wasn’t born yesterday; I listen to X-Japan.”  
Yoshiki’s smile was infectious.   
“I have a proposition for you,” he said, launching straight into business, a habit I’d find endearing only later. “Can we talk over lunch?”  
My manager wouldn’t let me refuse. So, at a café near the PSC building, we talked, and he asked me if I’d like to play guitar for him.   
“Of course, you’ll be sharing the stage with me and two other old hands in the business.”  
“Who?” I asked, my innate curiosity winning out in the end.  
“Sugizo, formerly of Luna Sea,” he said, and I nodded. “And Gackt.”  
My poor manager nearly had a heart attack with my squeal of delight. Yoshiki, on the other hand, took the whole scene coolly, unphased by the stares that I was drawing.  
“You’re kidding? Right? Gackt? _The_ Gackt?”  
“Miyavi, my friend,” Yoshiki said smoothly, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d mistake you for a fan girl.”  
Thoroughly knocked from my happy cloud of joy, I settled back down, well aware that I was as red as the shoes on my feet. I took a moment to appreciate Yoshiki’s calm nature and made a mental note to ask him how he did it later.  
“I would be honored,” I finally managed to spit out. “That is, if it’s okay with my manager.”  
Seeing as he still couldn’t breathe properly, he merely nodded and waved his hand in a shooing manner. I smiled and hugged him, scaring him further until he had to leave the café for fresh air.   
“First, though,” Yoshiki said, twitching the pressure of the braces on his wrists slightly, “I’d like you to join myself and Sugizo at JRock Revolution in Las Angeles. That way, we can announce that you’ve come aboard. Everyone already knows about the three of us.”  
I agreed willingly.   
“It’ll be a while before we’re able to get all four of us together. Gackt’s working on a few other projects right now, and can’t possibly get away from them.”  
“Of course,” I said quickly. “His TV show, right?”  
Yoshiki nodded.  
“So it will just be the three of us at Revolution. After that, schedules will clear up enough for some work to be done. The only thing is that we’ll need to be in L.A. when we do meet. It’s easier for me, and Gackt will be there recording anyway. Sugizo’s going to stay in town for a while after the convention, so we’ll only be waiting on you.”  
The details were worked out through my manager and his staff, as I have a bad habit of forgetting important things sometimes. Though, I doubt I could have forgotten this even if I had tried. Yoshiki let me hug him briefly as we parted company, patting me on the back in a brotherly manner.  
“Remember, I’ll see you at Revolution,” he said, walking backwards down the hallway and smiling.   
“Of course,” I called after him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
He vanished out of sight into an elevator and I ran down the opposite direction, yelling loudly and hoping that Kai and his band were still in the building.  
The Gazeboys took me out that night to celebrate my good fortune, and I endured rounds of torment from Ruki and Uruha because I blushed whenever Gackt was mentioned. But I didn’t care, because these guys were big softies and would never slander me. Too badly. Besides, we had way too much dirt on one another for anyone to start anything.   
Rip drunk, I fell into my bed at four in the morning and dreamed of the future.

I played JRock Revolution with pride and passion, moving even myself to awe. Afterward, standing next to Sugizo as Yoshiki MCed, I was struck for the first time in years with a bad case of stage fright. Here I was, twenty-something year old Miyavi, formerly Miyabi of Due’le Quartz, a veritable nobody, and I was going to play alongside the likes of Yoshiki, Sugizo, and Gackt.   
Yoshiki, the man who had left Japan after the death of his best friend and had produced the labels for some of the biggest names in the business, who was one of the best damn skin beaters in the world, and who had an eye for talent that no one could dare challenge. And Sugizo, a guitarist who’s skill was only equaled by Ken and Kaoru, and perhaps one or two others. Then there was Gackt, the one whom some had dubbed the ‘sex god of Japan,’ the one that most women fell over in tears for, the man whose icy exterior was taught to him by none other than Mana himself, and the one among us who would move entire continents to frenzy by a single smile.  
I didn’t belong here.   
Before I could give in to my terror, I heard my name being called and the screaming of thousands of fans. I suddenly wanted a strong drink. I suddenly wanted my mother. I suddenly wanted a strong drink AND my mother.   
Yoshiki motioned me forward, and I went, letting a smile bloom across my face to hide the sheer terror and anxiety that were eating my insides. I felt trapped, caught. I was in this now, and there was no way out.  
I managed to make it to my dressing room before I threw up.   
Weeks later, I came face-to-face with my idol. He was easier to be around than I had ever thought, and I felt myself relax after the initial shock of being in his presence wore off. He was a lot hotter in person than I had imagined, though, but I managed to keep myself in control. Barely.   
Leaving Yoshiki’s house for a made up meeting, I set about wandering through L.A. I realized that the feelings I’d developed when I was sixteen hadn’t faded in the slightest. If nothing else, they’d only grown, morphed into an all consuming burning at the base of my heart. And being around him had only fueled that fire until it was an inferno racing through my veins.   
I had never felt so excited and afraid in my entire life. I could only hope to survive the months to come.


	3. III. Gackt: Breaking the News, Breaking the Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoshiki warned Gackt to stay professional. Miyavi’s always harbored a secret dream. Will S.K.I.N. be torn apart from the inside out?

Since I quit smoking, I hadn’t regretted it. I pride myself on my health, on my physical fitness and prowess. But, for the first time in the few years I’ve been off cigarettes, I would have killed for one.

       Instead, I called You. But he wasn’t home. I called Chachamaru. He was busy. Ju-Ken and Ryu seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. I even tried Ren, but he was out as well. Deciding to risk it, I called Hyde. Thankfully, his wife was out and he was home with his son.

“Gacchan!” I could hear the relief in his voice. “How’s L.A.?”

“Big, crowded, and hot. How’s home?”

“Medium, pleasantly populated, and comfortable.”

I laughed, grateful for his humor.

“So,” he prompted. “How’s the rainbow?”

“The what?”

“Miyavi. Christ, Gackt, you’re awfully slow.”

I groaned, upset with being caught off guard. I flopped back onto the large bed my suite offered, cradling my cell phone in one hand as I worked my belt free from my pants with the other.

“He’s okay, I suppose.”

Hyde snorted as I tossed the belt to the foot of the bed.

“Just ‘okay,’ huh? Come on, Gacchan. You can do better than that. _Way_ better.”

“Well, I can tell you this,” I smiled. “His wardrobe is not an act. He puts your Tetsu to shame.”

Hyde laughed again.

“So I’ve seen. What else?”

“He’s smart, with a good head on his shoulders. His intelligence would be astounding to most because of his appearance, but he’s a sharp kid.”

“I can imagine the conversations you two might have.”

“It could be Taiwan all over again,” I teased Hyde.

“Oh please,” Hyde shot back, though I could hear the smile in his voice, “like you need any more gay rumors flying around you.”

“Well, we all know that I don’t prefer one gender over the other.”

“Gacchan! He’s ten years younger than you!”

“I haven’t expressed interest in him, Haido.”

“But I know you, Gackt. I know how you enjoy pretty things. Pretty people. I know your band, I know the kind of people you like to surround yourself with. And from what I’ve seen and heard, Miyavi’s right within that range.”

I knew I couldn’t dispute Hyde, because my friend was right. Sliding from the bed, I undid the buttons of my shirt with one hand, shifting the phone from one side to the other to slide the material from my shoulders and drop the shirt onto the bed with my belt.

“I know, Hyde,” I went on, heading for the closet, “but I’ve been warned off Miyavi.”

“By who?”

“Yoshiki.”

“What?”

I sighed, searching around my clothing for one of my favorite shirts and tossing it onto a chair.

“Before JRock Revolution, Yoshiki told me that Miyavi was coming aboard. He told me that I wasn’t to do anything to Miyavi that would jeopardize his future. Like I could corrupt him or something. It seems like Yoshiki has a special stock in the kid.”

“Wow. I never took Yoshiki for the type to threaten anyone.”

“He didn’t exactly threaten me, but right now, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s got a lot of sway over me. If I screw up, Yoshiki is well within his rights to ruin me.”

“Gackt, are you scared of Yoshiki?”

I knew that Hyde was teasing me, trying to make light of the situation, but he had no idea how close to the truth he was getting. I settled for offering a small grunt as I pulled a pair of jeans from the closet and let them join the shirt on the chair.

“I’m sure things will work out for the best in the long run,” Hyde told me softly, his voice dropping. “For you, they always do.”

“I suppose.”

“I have to make something for my son to eat. Call back again sometime, okay?”

“Of course.”

We said our goodbyes and I disconnected the call, suddenly feeling more alone than I had before. Dropping my cell onto a pillow, I gathered my clothing and took a hot shower.

 

I’d done the L.A. club scene a time or two in my previous visits, so I had a few places that I liked to go. That night, as I was settling into a secluded booth, I only wanted to sit, have a few drinks, and watch the American’s do what they tended to do. I found it somewhat humorous that they were so unrestrained, so wild in their antics. Nothing at all like Japan.

The waitress brought me my third round -it was a slow night-, and I settled further back, relaxing for once.

“Gackt?”

The voice was extremely close to my ear, soft and familiar. I twitched away, looking up in shock.

“Miyavi?”

The boy smiled down at me.

“Would you mind terribly if I join you? My table got taken when I went to the bathroom.”

“No, by all means,” I waved to the open area of the booth, smiling.

He slid into the opposite end and moved until he was around a foot away from me. I took a moment to take in his look: loose black jeans, a white tank top that hung limply from his frame, and black boots. His tattoos gleamed against his pale skin, contrasted only by the multi-colored hair that hung stylishly around his shoulders. He had a habit of sucking his lip ring into his mouth at random moments, an act that I found tantalizing for some reason.

“What brings you out?” he asked suddenly, turning himself to curl into the booth, looking directly at me.

I shrugged, finishing off my drink in silence. He moved closer to me, staring at my face.

“You’d look so much better without the contacts,” he said bluntly.

His statement caused me to laugh. I thought that maybe he was already drunk, that maybe he was just rambling. Yet, the look on his face, the utterly wounded expression, told me otherwise.

“You’re laughing at me, Gackt,” he said, leaning back, curling into himself. “That’s just rude.”

My laughter died and I stared at my empty glass. Mentally, I kicked myself. For a number of reasons. One, I was in a club with Miyavi, well on my way to being drunk and getting out of hand. Two, I was breaking a Yoshiki rule just by being _near_ the kid outside of work. Three, I had insulted him.

 _“Smooth move, G,”_ I though bitterly, looking around for a waitress.

“I suppose I deserved it,” Miyavi said, leaning his head against the back of the booth. “My manager is always telling me I’m too blunt for my own good.”

“That depends on who you’re talking to,” I said quietly, not quite looking at him. “Some people don’t mind. I don’t. In fact, people who are blunt are more likely to tell the truth.”

He smiled again and I felt almost greedy with want to see more. His smile lit up his entire face, making him appear more boyish than before. I was reminded startlingly of Hyde when I had first met him in 2002. Miyavi would always carry an air of youthfulness about him, I could already tell.

With a sigh, I gave up on flagging down a waitress and crawled from the booth. I had to put some distance between Miyavi and myself. I hated to think that I was running, but there really was no other way to put it.

“Gackt-,” he started, moving to follow me.

“Please,” I said softly, leaning back down to speak directly into his ear. “I can’t. One day, you’ll understand. I promise.”

Leaving him completely and utterly confused, I fled.


End file.
